The Answer That Was Lost
by Rhianna-Aurora
Summary: Previously titled "First Encounter". Something began there, on that cold night in the forest with a young witch, her perfume, and a man set on possessing her. What happens from there will change both their lives forever. HermionexScabior
1. Prologue

**A/N: After watching DH pt. 1, I kind of sort of fell in love with the character of Scabior, and I really just HAD to write this. It's possible that this will extend beyond this one-shot into something much longer, so if you like this, please let me know. I would love the feedback! Anyway. I hope you all enjoy this little snippet from one of my favorite little bits of the movie.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm not making any money off of this. I just like to borrow the characters now and again and have a bit of fun. :)  
**

I.

It was bloody cold in the forest tonight, and he was of half a mind to call off the search - at least for now. Surely no one would be stupid enough to come running half-cocked through the frozen woods at this hour.

Surely someone as high and mighty as Harry Potter himself would have him all manner of safe houses, and probably a secret-keeper or two at that. The key here, he figured, was not tracking him through the ruddy forest like some kind of animal; no, it was figuring out where the boy might be hiding. Who he might be hiding _with_.

He was about to signal his men that it was time to move onward - hopefully to warmer and more hospitable climes - when something gave him pause.

Here, just here, there was a funny sort of ripple in the air, almost like the pulse of magic. But it couldn't be. There was no one about, they'd searched this entire area high and low, and there'd been not a sign of anyone or anything. Unless the forest animals had suddenly learned how to do magic - it was impossible.

So then - what?

The others had continued on, and he made no move to stop them, nor did he follow them. _Something_ was here. It was mad, but he'd swear that what he was feeling … well, he'd swear there was another person here … just here … mere metres away. He nearly raised his hand, nearly reached out to touch whatever - whoever - was there.

But it was just … air. Just an empty, cold wood, and he was acting like quite a nutter at this moment.

An icy breeze rustled through the darkened trees, stirring about fallen leaves and making him shiver in spite of himself. It brought with it the scent of frozen earth, the decay of the nearby fallen trees, and - something sweeter. Flowers, maybe.

He walked slowly back to the spot where the air had felt different, and he took a long, deep breath.

Oh, yeah. Definitely flowers. Sweet little things, the kind you'd find growing outside a tiny little cottage in the countryside, all warmed up by the sunshine, making everything smell clean and new again. The image was enough to warm him, just a bit, before he remembered that it was _October_, and there were no bleeding flowers now.

A person then. A woman person. A _witch_. Hiding behind some very strong magics. Magic he had neither the time, patience, nor inclination to try and subvert right now, much as the idea of meeting this little burst of springtime might appeal to him right now. He could do with some warmth …

It was no matter. He _knew_ her now, knew her scent, knew that she must be very naive - for sophisticated, worldly women, in his experience, they never smelled of springtime flowers - but also _clever_. Clever enough to set up wards such as these, nearly imperturbable by the highly trained likes of himself and Greyback.

He'd quite like to know this witch, whoever she was. She seemed a fascinating sort. Very little fascinated him any more; honestly, very little even piqued his interest at all.

Until now.

But tonight - tonight would not be the night. He inhaled deeply one last time, letting her scent fill him again. He wouldn't soon forget it - no. He'd remember it, he'd seek it out, until the day came when he would find her again. Because he _would_ find her again, and when he did, she wouldn't hide from him.

He would know her. He would claim this bit of springtime for himself.

II.

She stood perfectly still, afraid to move - afraid even to breathe - as the Snatcher walked ever nearer to where she stood.

He didn't see her, and for that, she was glad - the wards were working. But _something_ had caught his attention, and after only a moment, she realized what it must have been.

Her perfume. That blasted perfume that she was only wearing now because it had been a gift from Ron at Christmas two years back, and she'd wanted him to notice her, wearing it. Of course, daft git that he was, didn't notice such things, and she'd been foolish to think that he might.

But the Snatcher - he had noticed, and he was drawing closer to her, a look of bemusement on his face.

She swallowed thickly … he was only centimetres from her now, so close that had she wanted to, she could have reached out to touch him. She _wouldn't_, but he was there, and it was almost impossible to think that he didn't see her at all.

She never took her eyes off of him, afraid that if she looked away, any manner of terrible things might happen. She didn't want to admit that there was something in his dark, dark eyes that made her wonder. Those were eyes, she was sure, that had seen much torture and pain - he had probably inflicted much of it himself.

But they didn't look malicious now. They looked weary. And, strangely enough, almost … wistful. As though he were imagining things he could never have. Maybe he was.

She watched him closely. He had the same dark sort of handsome good looks that Sirius Black had possessed … though this man, this Snatcher, he possessed the sort of haughty superiority usually only found among the most elite of the pureblood. Of course, he would be, wouldn't he, working as he did, for Voldemort.

She couldn't help but to think that in another time, another place, another _lifetime_, she might have found him quite pleasing to look upon.

She had lifted her arm halfway before she realized what she was doing, and quickly dropped it back to her side. For a moment there, she had forgotten herself, all she'd seen was sadness. Part of her wanted to ask him _why_, why was he doing any of this at all?

But the moment was gone now, and there was a glint in the steely eyes of the Snatcher. No more sad longing there, just a determination that chilled her more than the cold wind out here did. Something had changed within him, just now, she could tell. Whatever it was he'd been thinking of so despondently, it was gone. And now … well, now he just seemed … predatory.

She was once again glad for the wards, glad he couldn't see her, glad that he had no idea who she was.

She swallowed, trying to avoid looking at him, when only moments ago, she'd been unable to look anywhere else. She heard him inhale deeply, and she forced herself not to shudder … he was breathing _her_, after all. Something told her he'd not soon forget her.

She nearly jumped when he reached out, for she thought perhaps it had all been a game, perhaps he _had_ seen her all along. Perhaps he'd been watching her stare at him, pondering what lead a person to a life such as the one he had chosen for himself.

But his hand merely hovered in the air between them, and she watched her ward ripple and move ever so slightly beneath his touch. She held her breath, her eyes never leaving his hand, for one mad moment, she wondered what might happen if she reached out and took it in her own. She didn't have time to ponder on what would possess her to even consider such a thing, for he dropped his hand then, and stuffed both hands in his pockets, shivering against another icy wind.

"Be seeing you soon, gorgeous," he said in a low voice, a voice that both terrified and intrigued her, and he looked right where she was standing, before he turned and walked away.

It wasn't until she heard Ron calling her name, nearly ten minutes later, that she realized that she hadn't moved from that spot. Blinking and shaking her head, as though to clear the fog in her mind, she turned and made her way back to the tent.


	2. First Encounter

**A/N: Wow, you guys, I'm really completely overwhelmed (in the best possible way!) by the positive feedback this fic has gotten thus far. ****It really means so much to me that people are enjoying this. Thank you all soooo much!**** You may have noticed that I changed the title of this fic - since the inspiration is with me, I decided to make this more than a one-shot, and I felt like it needed a new title. So, anyway ... here is the next chapter. I had a lot of fun writing this one. I think we're in for a long and bumpy ride with these two characters, and I hope you will all stick around for it! :)**

**I own nothing, it all belongs to JKR and her brilliant mind, I'm merely borrowing the characters. All right. ONWARD!  
**

I.

Time passed, and there simply wasn't a spare moment to spend thinking about the events of that cold October evening. She wasn't even sure that there was anything to think _about_. It had happened … it wouldn't happen again.

During the day, while they were on the move, there was enough to keep her distracted, enough to occupy her thoughts. But when the boys went to sleep, and the tent was quiet, she thought about _him_, whether she wanted to or not.

Those eyes haunted her. Those dark, almost sinister depths beckoned to her late at night, whilst she lay there in the dark, trying to sleep, when not even her strongest magical wards could keep him out of her mind, her thoughts. She hadn't imagined the initial look of longing she'd seen in them, she was certain of it. _Something_ had beckoned him, initially.

_He's dangerous_, she told herself, time and again. _He works for _him_ for crying out loud! _There had been something decidedly ominous about him. He had looked like a man used to getting what he wanted, no matter what he had to do for it. He was a man who had killed and tortured and Merlin knew what else, she was sure of that. He was _everything_ she despised and detested in the world.

And yet … in a few brief moments, when he hadn't been able to see her … she had seen _him_. And there was something more there. She'd never know what it was, for she would never allow herself to be in that situation again, but that moment is what kept her awake now, pondering the life of a stranger. Wondering what made a person choose that sort of life. What might have happened to him, in his past?

She had wanted to reach out to him. She remembered that part most clearly, and it scared her more than almost anything else about him. It was unsettling, that she, Hermione Granger, the "brightest witch of her age", could have almost done something so mind-bogglingly _stupid_. That she had even entertained the possibility!

She rolled over onto her side, and pulled her blanket up to her chin as she looked at the blank canvas wall of the tent. Sleep finally found her then, and it was blissfully dreamless.

The next morning dawned bright and cold and she immediately knew something was wrong. There was a tension in the air - one that had been building for days, possibly even _weeks_ now. Ron was not his usual cheerful self, and she knew she needed to get the locket from him soon. She'd take it upon herself, if she needed to, anything to get it away from him.

But when she broached the subject with him, he had rebuffed her, saying that he was fine, that he didn't need her to pity him. She fought back the tears that were stinging her eyes, and bit back the urge to snap at him scathingly. Fighting amongst themselves would solve nothing right now.

Still, nothing could have prepared her for what was to happen later on.

She closed her eyes now, sitting outside, some distance away from the tent, as she tried her best not to dissolve into tears, trying not to remember what had happened only an hour ago. That horrible fight brought on by that cursed locket, that stupid horcrux. The biting words that had been spat out in anger. And in the end of it all …

Ron had left them - left _her_ - and the pain was nearly physical, it hurt that badly. She'd stood outside, calling for him, _screaming_ after him until she was hoarse and exhausted. But he was gone. And even if he wanted to, he couldn't come back. He was _gone_.

She leaned back against the trunk of an old oak and stared without seeing up at the sky. As much as she loved and respected and _believed _in Harry Potter - it was times like these that she wished she had never met him at all.

She immediately felt bad for even thinking it … but she wasn't a perfect person, and right now, she wasn't feeling particularly magnanimous, about anything. Mostly, she was just _angry_, and not at any one thing in particular.

She couldn't sit here any longer. With great effort, she pulled herself to her feet and walked away from the vicinity of the tent. She needed to be alone.

II.

He'd been sitting in a low-hanging bough of a large oak tree, trying to have a bit of hush away from the Snatchers' camp, when he caught a flash of movement out the corner of his eye.

He didn't know where she might've come from … she seemingly appeared out of thin air. Apparation, then. But why here, and why _now_? It was well-past dusk, and the woods at night were no place for a young woman such as that one. All manner of beasties and other unsavoury characters, he thought wickedly, cocking his eyebrow as he watched her. She seemed to be heading in the direction of the nearby stream.

He took a long pull off his cigarette as he continued to watch her from a distance. She was a slight little thing, with a head full of curly brown hair. He couldn't make out much more than that from this far away, but by the way her eyebrows seemed to be knitted and the thin line of her lips … she was upset about something.

He supposed he ought to do his job, ought to find out who and what she was, if she was on the list or not. But at the moment, he couldn't be arsed to go back to the camp to get the list, and have to endure the asinine questions from Greyback and the others. He was sick of the bloody forest, and they were no closer to finding Potter than they had been weeks ago.

Still, he kept his eyes on her, and as she walked farther away, he jumped down from his perch, and landed silently on his feet, much like a cat, and crept silently closer to her, not wanting to let her out of his sight, just in case.

She sat down on a large boulder near the almost-frozen stream, and stared off, seemingly at nothing. She was jumpy, he noticed. Every little noise caused her to jerk her head up and look about, as if she were expecting someone …

She was truly alone right now. Completely vulnerable, out here in the open, and there was a large part of him that was keen to take advantage of that fact. She was a slip of a thing, and he was good at getting what he wanted …

But then she raised her hands to her face, and he heard the strangled sound that escaped from her throat, and he realized that she was sobbing. Things were worse for her than he had previously thought, then. Easy pickings. He made a face then. Too easy. He was a man who appreciated a challenge, and right now, she posed none.

Besides, no matter what things he'd done in his life - and he'd done many a thing that had caused him a great deal of torment over the years - he'd done what he'd done in order to _survive_, and he didn't really give a whit about what happened to the people who got in the way of that, or what they thought about him. And no matter what dark thoughts he might be entertaining right now, no matter what wanton images he might roll around in his head, about taking her right there, on the boulder where she sat, while she was vulnerable and desperate, he still liked to believe that he wasn't a _complete_ monster … he wasn't Greyback, and it was one of his personal goals in life to _never_ be as such.

He should leave now, he knew it. He should go back to the Snatcher's camp, and leave this girl to her grief before he did something he might actually regret. He was ready to leave, he'd already turned himself around to go, when he heard Greyback's voice calling from a distance.

"Oi, Scabior!"

He cursed, as he realized he'd been gone from the camp for well over an hour. Careless. Stupid, really.

The young woman turned at the sound of the voice, and her eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, when they fell on him, standing there. It was the first time he was seeing her face closely, and to say that he was surprised would've been an understatement.

She was beautiful.

She scrambled to her feet and he noticed her hand go to the pocket of her coat … no doubt going for her wand.

Clever thing. She'd have to go past him to leave the area, unless she fancied jumping in the icy waters of the stream, and she was well aware of it. He noted the tears that had dried on her cheeks, and the expression of fierce determination that she wore now.

She didn't appear frightened, and that surprised him. Most young women in her position would have been petrified. Not this one, though. She had her wand out now, pointing it at him.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice steady and strong. "How many of you are there?"

He should let her go, he should just send her back from whence she came, but he found that he couldn't. Something about her was fascinating to him.

"Just me, love," he said, even though he knew she'd heard Greyback shouting.

Her eyes narrowed. "Let me pass. My parents are expecting me." Her voice held an air of haughty superiority, and he found he quite liked it.

"And what would they do," he said languidly, walking toward her, "if you didn't show up?"

She backed away from him slowly, never lowering her wand, until her back was against the trunk of a tree. She sucked in a shaky breath, he could feel the fear radiating off her now, as he drew nearer.

"Is there any reason I won't?" she asked him, her voice a bit less confident now.

"Why don't you tell me? What's a bird like you doing out here, in the middle of the woods at night, then?"

"I'm not alone. I'm camping, with my family, just across the way a bit." She pointed off in the opposite direction of where he'd seen her come from. "I just needed a bit of quiet, that's all. Please let me go back."

"Dangerous times to be camping, innit?" He twirled his own wand between his fingers as he regarded her. He knew she was lying. The question remained: Why?

He heard her swallow thickly. She was scared now, but still she didn't show it. Instead, she tossed her hair haughtily, and met his gaze with a level stare of her own.

He knew she said something then, he saw her lips moving, he heard the sound of her voice … but he was no longer paying attention. She had tossed her hair, and he had smelled … _her_. The girl from all those weeks ago. She was here, before him now, at last. The clever little witch who'd set up the wards he hadn't been able to get past. The witch whose scent had haunted him for weeks now. She was _here_. His nostrils flared, and he closed the distance between them.

"_Locomotor mortis_!" she cried, and he could hear the panic in her voice. Still, her aim was true, and his legs became useless. He fell to the ground, cursing her darkly.

She twisted her body and started to run then, and he should've let her go, he _should've_, because he found that he truly _didn't_ want to hurt her. But she'd been haunting him for weeks now, the smell of her filling his mind, and he couldn't let her get away, not yet. He reached out and grabbed her by the ankle, and she fell to the ground roughly. He pulled her closer to him, across the leave-strewn forest floor, and held her down by the shoulders, the rest of her body pinned beneath him, keeping her immobilized so that she couldn't fire another spell at him.

She let out a shriek then, and he could see the tears forming in her eyes. "Please, please, _please _let me go!"

He had no intention of hurting her, he had just wanted her _closer_. He just hadn't wanted her gone so quickly, now that he'd found her. All he could breathe was the scent of her now, that innocent flowery smell, that springtime garden, and it was driving him quite mad. It was dizzying, the nearness of her, and before he even realized what he was doing, he had crushed his lips down upon hers.

She struggled against him at first, but he was strong, and had her firmly pressed to the ground. But then she let out a small sound, and it might have been a sigh of pleasure or it might have been a whimper of fear, but he took the opportunity to assail her mouth with his tongue.

She tasted like nothing he'd ever known, like tea and honey and some other sweetness - perhaps it was just _her_, he didn't know. He just needed more of it, whatever it was. He needed more of _her. _His fingers dug into her shoulders as he deepened the kiss, and he wasn't sure, but he would've sworn that - was she - kissing him _back_?

He didn't get a chance to find out, for once again, he heard the sound of Greyback's voice, calling for him. If Greyback saw the girl here … No. He wouldn't have that. This girl, this flower-scented witch, she was for _him_, and only him. He'd not let anyone else touch her.

He released her then, and she looked at him, her velvet-brown eyes wide and wondering, as if she was expecting him to do something else, something _worse. _Instead, he gave her a wink and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, inhaling her scent as he did so. What was it about her that was so intoxicating to him? The need to possess her, to make her _his_, was stronger than anything he'd ever known.

He lowered his mouth to her ear, and he thought he felt her shiver slightly. For now, it was enough for him to know he had _some_ sort of effect on her.

"Run," he whispered to her, and he watched her eyes widen as she looked at him, puzzled. He gave a small nod of his head, and she pulled herself to her feet, and took off running without a glance back.

"See you soon, gorgeous," he said quietly as he watched her go, a smirk playing across his lips. He meant it. Now that he'd tasted her, he wasn't about to let her just disappear again. Whatever it might take, she would be his.


	3. What She Left Behind

**A/N: I'm going to try to stick as CLOSE to canon as I possibly can with this fic from this point onward, but in order to keep Scabior in the actual story, things are going to have to go AU here and there, and I hope that doesn't put anyone off. And speaking of canon ... well, there really is no canon backstory for Scabior, so I've been working on one for him, for the purposes of this fic. There will be little bits and pieces of it revealed from this chapter forward, so if something confuses you now, good. It's supposed to. Don't worry, everything WILL make sense in the end. Thank you all, again, for reading, and for all the wonderful feedback.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, not making money, don't sue, etc.**

I.

She ran, faster than she had ever run before, until she felt the ripple of the magical wards around her, until she _knew_ she was well within the confines of the camp. It was only then that she stopped, panting and out of breath, one hand on a nearby tree, as she doubled over with a pain in her side.

She let out a choked sob, her other hand going to her mouth to muffle the sound, as she desperately tried to piece together what had just happened.

She _never_ should have left the camp. And had it been ordinary circumstances, she never would have even entertained the possibility. But everything about this place had felt oppressive to her in the moment. Everywhere she looked, every noise she heard, it had all just reminded her of _Ron_, and those feelings had only been amplified by the locket around her neck, and she'd not been able to take it any longer.

Drawing a shaky breath, her hand went to the chain around her neck, where the locket still hung. It felt heavy, like a weight on her. It set her teeth on edge, the way it seemed to be buzzing in her head. It had only stopped when …

She shook her head vehemently then, willing herself not to think about it. But the logical part of her brain knew that she would have to deal with it sooner or later. And sooner was better. After all, she could still _taste _him. If she were to lick her lips, he would still be there.

She had been _petrified _at first, watching him draw ever nearer to her, his movements graceful and calculated, like a cat stalking its prey. Had she been possessed of all her wits, she would have realized that _stupefy_ would have been a much better spell to use at the time. But she'd been afraid, and befuddled, and all she'd managed was a weak leg-locker curse.

What surprised her most about the whole ordeal was not that he kissed her … though, of course, she hadn't seen that coming at all … but that even when he'd had her, beneath him, pinned to the ground, immobile … even though there had been a moment of fear … in the end, she _hadn't_ felt threatened. Not at all.

He had tasted like ashes; like ashes and firewhiskey and something else, something she knew _nothing _about. He wasn't the first person who had ever kissed her, no that honour belonged to Viktor Krum. And _he _had been sweet and earnest, if a little sloppy, but he'd been as clumsy at it as he was at everything else besides flying.

But this man, this Snatcher. There had been nothing clumsy about the way he kissed her. Nothing sweet about it either. He had kissed her like a man possessed; like he was dying of thirst, and she was his water. There'd been a moment, as his lips assailed hers, a brief moment when the buzzing in her head had stopped, when the weight of the locket had disappeared, when she couldn't remember why she was in the middle of the forest in the first place. A moment in which the whole world had just fallen away and she had actually sighed with the _relief _of it all. She remembered it so clearly now. He had deepened the kiss then, his tongue sliding past her lips, and instead of fighting it any longer, she had given herself over to that moment - that beautiful, blissful respite from it all. Her hands had moved, of their own accord, to his shoulders, and she had followed his lead, albeit tentatively, and kissed him back. Closing her eyes, she ran her fingertips over her slightly bruised lips.

It had only lasted a moment, but it was a moment wherein she didn't have to be _Hermione_, brightest witch of her age. A moment wherein she didn't have to be anyone at all. And after these past few weeks, maybe … maybe a moment like that was just what she needed to keep herself sane.

Perhaps she ought to feel horrified, or mortified, or something other than what she was feeling right now. Maybe those feelings would come in time. For now, though, all she felt was relief, and a strange sense of peace of mind, which was oddly misplaced, considering what had just happened.

She wasn't an idiot. She was quite aware that things might have gone very differently out there, that she mightn't even be standing here now. But there were other things she was aware of, too.

She wasn't worldly or sophisticated, but she'd read a lot, and she'd heard the other girls in her dorm talking, and she was clever enough to deduce things for herself. And of this she was certain: He had _wanted_ her. And he could have easily taken her, had he been of a mind to. But he hadn't. Instead, he had let her go. Not only that … he had broken away from the kiss _first_. He had told her to run, and there had been urgency in his voice.

So she had run, and she knew that she and Harry needed to leave this place, and soon. As much as she would've liked to stay here, in the hopes that Ron might change his mind, and come back to them, she knew that was foolish and reckless. Ron had made his choice, when he'd walked out of that tent. He'd made his choice when he ignored her calling after him.

And now she had to make hers.

After taking a few more steadying breaths, she started to head toward the tent, but the crunch of leaves behind her gave her pause. She didn't turn around, she couldn't. She knew she was well within the boundaries of the magical wards, but she held her breath all the same.

"I know you're here." His voice was low. He took a deep breath, and she knew it was once again her scent that he was breathing. "The magic, I feel that too. I know you lied, before, and I don't blame you any for that. But whatever it is you're doing, don't do it here."

She turned around then, and slowly reached her hand out to touch the ward. It rippled, and she knew he saw it. She took a deep breath and pulled out her wand, then crossed the barrier to stand before him. "Why would you come here, just to tell me that?" she asked, keeping her voice low so that Harry wouldn't overhear.

His lips twitched slightly when she appeared in front of him. He reached out with one hand, and gently threaded his fingers through her hair. He didn't say anything for a long moment; he just looked at her, rubbing a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, his expression unreadable. Finally he spoke, but Hermione wasn't sure that he was talking _to_ her at all. "You remind me of something."

Her brow furrowed. There was such longing in his voice … she was instantly reminded of the first night she had seen him. And again she wondered - what had happened to this man, to bring him to a life such as this? She shouldn't care, it shouldn't _matter_, but she wanted to know. "What's that?" she asked, her voice coming out much smaller than she had anticipated.

The sound of her voice seemed to snap him out of whatever daydream he might've been having, for he immediately took his hand away from her hair, and his eyes - grey, she noticed now, like the sky after a storm - snapped almost angrily.

"Something that's long gone," he spat. "Like you oughta be by now. Don't you have a lick of common sense in that head of yours?"

She blinked, slightly taken aback. She opened her mouth to retort, but he placed one finger to her lips, shushing her. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I don't want to have to hurt you." His voice held the same urgency that it had earlier, when he had told her to run.

She understood then, at least, she thought she did, and she nodded, looking up at him with wide eyes. His face was very near hers now, their noses almost touching, and she was trying hard to keep her breathing in check. Their eyes met, and neither of them looked away for what seemed like a very long time, but in reality, was probably only seconds.

Shaking his head then, he uttered a low sound, almost guttural, and shoved her back. She stumbled a bit and nearly tripped back to the other side of the barrier. She watched him, from her vantage point, knowing he could no longer see her or reach her. He turned and walked away immediately, not sparing a glance back, and she noted that his hands were balled into fists at his sides. Something had upset him, and it bothered her that she was so concerned. She didn't even _know_ the man, but she had to fight off the urge to run after him.

Fortunately - or perhaps unfortunately, she wasn't quite sure yet - Harry came out of the tent then, looking mildly confused. "Hermione? I thought I heard voices."

She shook her head at him. "It's just me," she said weakly. "I was … reading aloud, to pass the time." She motioned toward the Tales of Beedle the Bard that was lying on the ground not too far away. She _had_ been trying to read it earlier, that wasn't a total lie.

He continued to look at her strangely, but finally accepted what she said. "Well, I'm awake now," he said. "You might as well get some sleep."

She cast her eyes toward the sky, which she knew would start to lighten in just a few hours time. "Actually, we should leave soon," she said, and he looked at her quizzically.

"Don't you think, after the past few days, it might be good to rest a bit, regroup?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's not smart to stay in one place for too long," she said, "and we've already been here for three days."

Harry opened his mouth to say something further, and Hermione knew he was going to mention Ron, but she pushed past him and made her way to the tent before he could. She didn't want to talk about Ron right now, she _couldn't_. It was all too soon.

And she certainly didn't want to answer any questions about why she was in such a sudden hurry to be gone. She couldn't exactly tell Harry that she was going on the word of a man whose name she didn't know, who happened to be a Snatcher, who _also_ happened to have snogged her nearly senseless only a few hours ago.

Oh, yeah, Harry would take all that news _wonderfully_.

She set to packing up their things, and wouldn't hear another word of protest from Harry on the subject. Harry wisely kept his mouth shut, and helped her gather the rest of their things.

Before they left the area, Hermione unwound the scarf from around her neck, and tied it around one of the trees that had been on the perimeter of their campsite.

"For Ron, then?" Harry asked, his voice quiet.

Hermione blinked a little, and then nodded. "So he'll know we've moved on," she said simply. It wasn't _completely _untrue, and it was much easier to put it that way, than it would be to explain the rest.

She wasn't entirely sure she had left it there for Ron at all.

II.

Late the next afternoon, he went back to the place where he had spoken to her the night before. Instead of finding her, he'd found the scarf. He wasn't sure whether he was disappointed that she was no longer there, or pleased that she had listened to him.

And she _had_ listened to him, hadn't she? To say he was surprised would be putting it mildly. But then he remembered the look of concern in her dark eyes the previous night and wondered on what it would be like to have a person in this world that actually cared that you were alive.

He ran the scarf through his fingers almost reverently as he untied it from around the old tree. It was _hers_, all pink and soft, and she had left it here for him to find, he was sure of it. Her perfume still clung to it, and he could feel himself growing hard as he breathed in the scent, thinking about the way this very scarf had been draped about her long, graceful neck the previous evening. He remembered perfectly the way her mouth had tasted. The way she had kissed him back. She'd been shy about it, but that had only made it sweeter to him. Something told him that she didn't kiss just anybody, and he got a bit of smug male satisfaction out of thinking he was one of a very few.

He couldn't remember the last time he had wanted anything at all, but oh, he wanted her. And he could've had her, last night, he was sure of it. He could have taken her, made her his, and maybe it would have released him from this maddening fixation he had on her.

But he hadn't been lying when he'd told her that he didn't want to hurt her. She _did_ remind him of something; something from a different lifetime. Something that he couldn't dwell on now, not if he wanted to stay sane.

She had done what he'd asked, and that should've been the end of it. She was gone, and he needs never to see her again. That had been the point, after all, of his visit to her.

But instead of making things easier for him, as he had hoped, it had done the exact opposite. He wanted to know everything about her. What her name was, where she was from - had she gone to Hogwarts? - who her friends were. If she had a lover. He thought that she must, she was such a clever, pretty thing, but the thought of another man touching her sent a flash of anger through him, and his hand tightened around the scarf violently.

He heard the sounds of his fellow Snatchers heading his way then, and he quickly stuffed the scarf into his pocket. He didn't want to deal with the others and their inane questions right now, and he certainly wasn't about to let Greyback anywhere near anything of hers. He'd kill the bastard first.

Once they caught him up, he told them to head back to the Ministry to give their reports to the Minister. They were bloody well done here; they could finally leave this blasted forest to rot.

He took a deep breath as they set off for the Ministry, feeling oddly at peace with the fact that for now, he knew he had done all he could to keep her safe. And because of her scarf, he knew he would find her again soon.

A witch as intelligent as she was surely knew all about tracking spells; how you needed something belonging to the person you sought in order for them to work.

Why else would she leave that behind, if she didn't want to be found?

_Challenge accepted, love._


End file.
